On Yin And Yang Realpolitik Brinkmanship Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

When Jong Kim on insanity's rim
points a nuke as rebuke on a whim,
supreme seer's career
frees dream theme for Korea,
or is it deep freeze [l]out for him?

Double jeopardy threats may dismay
but as April gives way to this May,
little trace may remain
of the castles in Spain
built on arms' race cloud-cuckoo land bray.

Who aims missiles south of the border,
true flames claims mouth giving the order,
on thin ice skates before
pride for fall prepares, sore
arms in straitjacket with warder.

His family seems short on brains,
short of cash is the army he trains,
there'd be hope if he fed
all his people, instead
this red in the head's down the drains.

Pyongyang may go bang, ego pop,
Pee on yang and yin no win knows, drop
and precipitous fall
is awaited by all
convinced that this madness must stop.

Yet one wonders who's really to blame
when realpolitik cold war's flame
entertains for decades
with his missile parades,
red star rising, Mars claims starborn fame.

'Morning Calm' once was title imparted
to a country united warm-hearted,
but Fate works in ways strange
to incite human change,
long range leaves small-change, risks uncharted.

Who chose on Choson to declaim
became soon addicted, the name
of the game for muse writing
to amuse with wit biting
is cartoon soon lampoons to acclaim.

This limerick chain sane could rhyme on
disdain, reign as tragic as Timon,
but the duke of nukes count
down push button account
is too crass for an ass to waste time on!